[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]
- Cloten. Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a
hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes
must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine
oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
- First Lord. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with
- Second Lord. [Aside] If his wit had been like him that broke it,
it would have run all out.
- Cloten. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for
any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?
- Second Lord. No my lord;
nor crop the ears of them.
- Cloten. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
Would he had been one of my rank!
- Cloten. I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a
pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am;
they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my
mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of
fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
nobody can match.
- Second Lord. [Aside] You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
cock, with your comb on.
- Second Lord. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
companion that you give offence to.
- Cloten. No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
offence to my inferiors.
- First Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?
- Cloten. A stranger, and I not know on't!
- Second Lord. [Aside] He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
- First Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of
- Cloten. Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
- Cloten. Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
- Cloten. Not easily, I think.
- Second Lord. [Aside] You are a fool granted; therefore your
issues, being foolish, do not derogate.
- Cloten. Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.
- Second Lord. I'll attend your lordship.
[Exeunt CLOTEN and First Lord]
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he'ld make! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!